Guilty Conscience
by ScarletDeva
Summary: After Derek leaves Casey to walk home in the cold rain, he learns the real meaning of consequences. But Derek, doesn't do fffee... coughfeelingscough, right? [Subtle Dasey]


**Author's Note:** I was innocently lounging on the couch, feeling under the weather, when I saw a single episode of this show. And as it usually goes, I blinked and it caught me. My friend Kev told me, oh hey write a short fic, it'll help you get this show out of your head. So I did. Thanks to the ever-awesome Emily who told me it was passable for public viewing. Enjoy.

* * *

**Guilty Conscience  
**

Derek would never ever admit it but the sound of the door slamming and Casey's angry voice calling his name was a bit of a relief. Leaving her to walk home in the torrential downpour wasn't his best idea ever. He was supposed to give her a ride but she just pissed him off so much. And maybe he was a little concerned. But she was alright so he could go back to being annoyed again.

"Derek!" Casey yelled in that way she had of saying his name when she was angry beyond measure.

"What is it, dear step-sister?" he asked with a smirk.

Her hair and clothes were plastered to her skin and the rain was running down her body to pool on the floor around her feet. She looked like a very infuriated, drowned squirrel. "How could you leave me like that?" she demanded. She swiped her hand across her face, trying to mop up the water.

"Um. As I recall, I pressed on the gas pedal and… yeah that sounds about right," he replied and flopped into his recliner.

"Ugh! You're such a jerk!" she accused. She unwrapped the sodden scarf from around her neck and flung it in his face before storming up the stairs.

He frowned as he dropped the wet garment on the floor. Now he definitely did not feel bad at all. He grabbed the remote and turned on the sports channel. This was a lot more interesting than his uptight step-sister.

Several hours later, he flung a giggling Marti onto his back and jogged to the dinner table. "So what's for dinner?" he asked as his little sister attempted to braid his messy hair.

"Tofu," Nora announced happily. The look of utter disgust on his face only made his step-mother laugh. "It's not so bad. Besides if everyone eats their dinner, your father and I have a special trip for the family planned for tomorrow."

"Guess I won't be eating my tofu then," Derek muttered, letting Marti down.

"Is it green tofu?" the little girl asked seriously.

Lizzie walked in from the kitchen, with a disturbed looking Edwin behind her. "Very green," she confirmed.

As the family all sat down to dinner, Derek noticed one member of their special little nutso farm was missing.

"Hey mom, where's Casey?" Lizzie asked.

"Why I don't know Lizzie. Has anyone seen Casey?" Nora asked, passing a dish of rice to Edwin.

"I'll go check," Lizzie replied and hopped out of her seat.

For a moment, Derek felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest. It vaguely reminded him of that sensation he had when he found out Lizzie's soccer coach was four-timing Casey. He was not going there again. Picking up his fork, he dug into the mound of rice on his plate. He was sticking to the safe stuff.

Lizzie dragged a wan looking Casey in by the hand and pushed her gently into her chair.

"You alright sweetheart?" Nora asked.

"M'fine," Casey said and promptly sneezed into the wad of tissues clutched in her hand. She blew her nose and groaned.

"You don't look so good," George said. "Good thing tomorrow is Saturday."

"Well I'd be just fine if I didn't have to walk home in the rain," Casey muttered as she stabbed her fork into a piece of luridly green tofu.

"Why didn't Derek drive you home?" Nora asked.

Edwin elbowed Lizzie lightly and she nodded.

"Uh I though she was getting a ride from Emily," Derek said quickly.

Casey glared at him. If looks could kill… "No you didn't," she said. She shoved her plate away, and slumped her forehead onto her crossed arms. "I don't feel good."

Derek felt that funny pang again.

Nora got up and went around the table, feeling Casey's face with the back of her hand. "George, I don't think she's in any condition to go anywhere tomorrow," she said worriedly.

Derek could feel his father's eyes on him and the sudden chill in his stomach told him he was about to hear something bad.

"I don't think we can cancel the trip. But since it seems to be Derek's fault, he can stay home with Casey tomorrow and take care of her," George decided.

This had its ups and downs. He didn't have to do the dreaded family time. But he was stuck with a sick Klutzilla. It was hard to say what had more weight. Still, he leaned back in his chair and sighed long-sufferingly. "Oh just great."

"Hey, at least you're not the one whose body has been overtaken by vile mucus," Casey muttered from her slumped position. Nora signed and smoothed back her daughter's hair.

"Is Casey going to die?" Marti asked.

"Unfortunately not," Derek replied. For some reason that also gave him that weird pang.

"Gee thanks," Casey said.

"That's really mean," Lizzie said. She didn't often get into the middle of her own volition but the look in her eyes made Derek think back to the original Klutzilla incident and how she got him to get the school to back off on Casey.

"It's okay. I don't want her dead. I couldn't torment her that way," Derek back-pedalled slightly. Derek Venturi didn't do apologies. This was the best Casey would get.

"Joy," Casey said and sat up slowly. "Mom, please don't leave me with him. He'll probably poison me. Isn't being sick punishment enough?"

"No dear. It's settled. Derek will take good care of you, I'm sure."

And that was that.

The next morning, Derek was awakened by his family trying to pack up and leave. As always nothing was a simple task in the MacDonald-Venturi household. He yawned and decided he may as well go to the bathroom. On the way, he was almost bowled over by Lizzie, Edwin hot on her heels. Sighing, he made his way downstairs instead.

"Derek, you're up," Nora greeted him cheerfully. "Just the Venturi I wanted to see. The medicine is in the bathroom, there's canned chicken soup in the pantry and if you need anything call me."

"Sure, sure," he agreed sleepily as he scratched his head. It felt like an eternity before the family cleared out and he was alone in the house. Well except for Casey.

That annoying pang drove him up the stairs and to her door. When he opened it, she was on the other side in her cotton pajamas, wrapped in a large comforter, her nose red and her face puffy.

"Woah, pretty princess, where do you think you're going?" he asked sarcastically.

"Downstairs," she said and began to cough, a wet, rough sound.

"Uh-huh," he said and spun her around, marching her back to her bed.

"Derek! I want to go watch TV," she protested as soon as she caught her breath.

He manhandled her into bed and stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and a superior smirk on his face. "No way. You're staying in bed and getting better. I don't need Dad and Nora on my ass 'cause you're too stupid to take care of yourself."

"Derek!" she cried in aggravation.

He left the room to grab the thermometer from the bathroom along with the Tylenol. "Open up."

"Lea-," she began to say and he shoved the thermometer into her mouth and held it there.

"Now be a good girl for Big Brother Derek," he cooed in a saccharine voice, laughing at how miserable she looked, with her blurry eyes and stand-on-end hair.

By the time he pulled the instrument from her mouth, she seemed ready to spit nails. "You're such a… Neanderthal!" she yelled. Another coughing fit caught her, shaking her whole body.

Derek felt that irritating pang again and looked down to see her temperature. 38.7 C. Pretty high. "Yeah, yeah Case, I've heard that one before. Now take your medicine." He handed her the Tylenol and the bottle of water from her dresser. Tossing some magazines down, he turned around and headed off to find some breakfast. For himself.

"Would it kill you to be nice for a day?" she called out after him.

"Probably," he replied and closed her door.

He figured he could blame the pang for the situation he was in a half an hour later, standing in front of Casey's door with a tray in hand. In fact he was going to blame the pang for everything.

"Dead yet?" he asked cheerfully as he stepped inside.

"Sorry but no," she retorted and blew her nose. "If it makes you feel any better, my nose is ready to secede, my throat is on fire and my whole body hurts."

"Yep, that makes my day," he said as he put down her breakfast. "Here. Don't ever say I've never done anything for you."

She eyed the eggs and orange juice suspiciously. "Arsenic or cyanide?"

"Casey, Casey, Casey," he chided. "Would I be that predictable? Besides if I was going to kill you, I'd at least do it when I could convincingly blame it on someone else."

He felt her forehead as she cautiously took a bite. "Well… that surprisingly doesn't suck," she said. "When'd you learn how to cook?"

He shrugged and sprawled in her chair. "Edwin watches food shows. I learned by osmosis."

"Now I'm more surprised you know what osmosis means," she quipped.

Shit. "You're contagious," he retorted quickly. "You and your grade grubbing drift through the house like the Black Plague."

She looked at him oddly. "At least I have the excuse of being sick for coming up with poor insults… What's yours?"

"I don't need excuses. I am the Great Derek Venturi," he boasted.

"Fine, oh Great One," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Whatever you say." She picked at the eggs half-heartedly.

"It's about time you recognized my superiority," he said and grinned.

"The only thing superior about you is your inability to recognize sarcasm," she responded.

He got up and patted her on the head. "That's my favorite step-sister. So obnoxious. So in my power." He leered at her jokingly.

She weakly launched a small pillow at him and it flopped on the floor. "Go away Derek."

"Only after you finish breakfast," he said and grabbed a pen from her desk, twirling it between his fingers. It dropped when Casey bolted from the bed, her face a funny shade of green.

He followed her only to recoil at the sight of her bent over the toilet and the revolting sounds she was making. "Gross!" He watched from a safe distance until she rocked back on the balls of her feet, haunched on the bathroom floor.

"It's not exactly a picnic for me," she croaked weakly.

There went that goddamn pang again. Holding his nose with two fingers, he pulled the lever to flush the toilet, then sprayed one of Casey's revoltingly pink girl things to hopefully improve the scent. "Are you going to get up?" he asked.

"I would if I could," she said.

"Fine." With an exaggerated sigh, he bent down, slid his arm around her waist, ignoring her startled yelp, and pulled her up. She was light and warm and the flowery smell of her hair thankfully blocked the less pleasant scents in the bathroom. The ever-present pang warned him not to trust her to her feet and he half pulled, half carried her back to her room. He none too gently let her flop onto her bed. There. Really, if the pang could materialize in tangible form, he would beat the shit out of it.

"Derek," she called.

For once, she wasn't angry or annoyed or smug. She said his name normally. Like it was any other word in the English language.

For a moment, their eyes locked and Derek felt that fucking pang again. But this time it felt different somehow.

"What?" he snapped, trying to rid himself of the fffee… well the pang anyway.

"Could you get me more orange juice please? My mouth tastes horrible," she asked, holding out the empty glass.

"Uh. Sure," he said and left the room as quickly as possible without running. What the hell was that all about…

After bringing her the juice, he took a shower and then locked himself in his room, playing around with the videos on his computer. He had enough of Casey and her… well her. He spent several hours editing a bunch of really awesome stuff he got of Marti and, finally satisfied, put it up on YouTube.

His stomach was grumbling and like any teenage boy he didn't believe in waiting for satisfaction. Unfortunately the pang returned and grumbling under his breath, he peeked into Casey's room. She looked up, blinking sleepily, tousled and flushed. That weird different pang came back too. This was beginning to really annoy him.

"What?" she asked and yawned.

"You hungry? I'll get you soup if you promise not to toss your cookies again," he said.

She made a face. "Canned chicken soup. Mmm, my favorite."

"It's either that or crackers. Even if I knew how to make chicken soup from chickens, I wouldn't do it," he told her.

"I could go on a hunger strike," she threatened.

An evil gleam in his expression, he grabbed the thermometer again and slid it into her mouth before she could protest. "Don't mess with me McDonald." She made unintelligible sounds around the glass tube, glaring daggers with her eyes, which looked a very bright blue, like every time she was mad. It amused him. When he pulled it out, he patted her on the head. "Good girl. Now take some more Tylenol and I will get you soup."

"Stop treating me like a puppy," she growled at him.

"Why? It's fun. And you're sick so you can't even do anything about it," he gloated.

She looked around, obviously for something to hit him with. Then she sighed. "Fine. I'll eat your stupid soup if you don't make a fuss about me going downstairs to watch TV."

He considered her offer. "Fair enough. Let's go."

This time it looked like he might have to thank the stupid original pang because it made him keep an eye on her as she followed him because it was the only thing that saved her from flying down the stairs and probably taking him out with her. Dodging, he grabbed her, yanking her against himself so she wouldn't fall, her mussed hair flying into his face. He was beginning to feel stalked by these pangs as their eyes met. Casey looked away quickly, going red in embarrassment. With a muffled curse, Derek swung her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, gentler than he would have if he didn't remember her propensity to void the contents of her digestive system in the wrong direction. She thumped his back with her fist.

"Hold still," he said roughly. "If I go down, so do you."

"Put me down," she protested. It would probably have had a lot more impact if her face wasn't jammed against his spine.

"Fine," he said and dumped her on the couch. He picked up the remote from his recliner and tossed it next to her then went to make lunch.

She was watching a rerun of some dumb girly show when he returned with her medicine and microwave-warmed soup.

"Remember, you puke this up, I am not cleaning it," he warned.

"Yeah whatever," she said as she began to lethargically eat her soup.

He rolled his eyes and got his sandwich from the kitchen. At least he didn't have to baby-sit her. He went back to his room. Maybe he could invite a girl over… Erica Sampson from English class was looking pretty hot this past week. As he began to seriously contemplate looking up her number both of the pangs pounced on him. He almost jumped. "Okay, okay, I give," he muttered. To distract himself, he started putting another video together, this one of Edwin and Lizzie's exploits.

Outside, the rain began to drip.

He was almost done with the video when a blinding flash went off outside the window, quickly followed by a roaring boom. The pang reminded him to go check on Casey. He fidgeted and continued working on the reels. Then pang poked him harder. It was like being controlled by an evil gnome with a big spear who sat on his shoulder and liked his wicked step-sister. He outright laughed at the idea of Casey being wicked.

Okay fine.

He found Casey listlessly flipping channels, more flushed than she was earlier.

"Need anything," he asked carelessly.

"Huh… oh Derek. No, not really," she said. She shifted and curled up on the end of the couch.

He nodded and as he put his foot on the first step, she called his name again.

That same way.

"What?"

"I'm bored. Keep me company," she asked.

"What?" he repeated, unable to believe he heard it right.

"Oh come on. Pretend you don't hate me for an evening," she suggested.

"How could I hate you?" It slipped out before he had a chance to think about it. Then he gave a short laugh. "In fact you're my favorite. Favorite person to drive up the wall that is."

She gave him a look.

Okay that was weak. "Fine. I don't hate you. Don't let it go to your head. Doesn't mean I like you." The pangs and his feet brought him to the couch where he settled himself into a comfortable, lounging position.

"If you don't hate me, then it won't be impossible for us to get along for one single evening," Casey said primly.

He eyed her oddly.

She sighed and slumped against the cushion, pulling the blanket to her chin. Her eyes slid closed. "Don't you ever get tired of the constant fighting?"

"Nope. It's invigorating," he said.

"Well I do," she whispered.

The silence held. If Casey wasn't asleep, she was half-conscious at best. Derek checked her forehead again and it was dry and hot against his hand. He sighed and picked up the remote. As he settled on a Jackie Chan movie, he wasn't sure why he wasn't leaving her alone in the living room, but he figured he could blame it on the evil pangs. If nothing else, he would definitely never leave her alone in the rain.

Casey was definitely asleep. She uncurled, her legs stretching across the length of the couch, her feet ending up in a startled Derek's lap. Carefully, he tried to nudge the offending extremities away from himself but she only muttered in her sleep and turned over, her feet lodging themselves firmly atop his thighs. At a loss, Derek found himself studying them, one hand still lightly holding them. She didn't really have small feet, not that they were large either. They were just average, with toes that were painted a surprising mute-red. The tops of her feet felt soft and delicate against his palm, almost like Marti's satin purple dress. It was a stark contrast from her soles, the skin smooth but tough on his fingertips. She was a dancer, he thought idly. Remembering himself, he let go, tugging the blanket so it would cover her feet, and went back to watching Jackie Chan do impossible looking flips.

She woke up midway through the movie and yawned as she sat up, her legs bent and tucked against her body. "What are you watching?"

"I can't really tell Jackie Chan movies apart," Derek said, not looking at her. "But as long as there's serious ass-kicking I'm happy."

"That's such a guy thing to say," she told him.

"Yep," he replied unabashedly.

"What time is it?" she asked suddenly.

"Uhm… about 6 I think," he replied.

As if on cue, the phone rang and Derek plucked it out from behind the seat cushion. "Hello? Uh-huh. Okay. Bye."

"Who was it?" Casey asked.

"Nora. They're running late because of the storm."

"Oh."

The movie was actually pretty cool. Or at least the ending where Jackie kicked more ass.

"Can we watch something different?" Casey asked.

He grinned. "You don't have the strength to even attempt to steal the remote do you? We're watching what I want to watch." This time the pang slowed his fingers as he flipped through the channels. "Nothing good is on." It would have been too much to give her the remote, so he just turned on MTV2. Music was better than nothing.

He caught Casey glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"I just pictured D-Rock on MTV," she said quietly, smiling to herself.

He smirked. "The girls would go wild. De-rek. De-rek. De-rek."

She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't the mindless adoration ever get on your nerves?"

"Why should it? I'm the best. I'm a hot hockey god. They should worship me," he said, almost preening.

"Sometimes I can't figure out how you don't get tired of being you," she told him.

"It's better than being you," he said.

She snorted lightly. "Come on. You have to perform all the time. For the hockey fans. For the girls. For the fawning guys who follow you around and try to be you for no reason I can ever discern. You have to do dumb things to keep up your rep. You have to always present a certain front. If you put half the effort you use up for that into your homework you'd be an A student."

"Ooooh Casey thinks I'm smart," he teased. "And hey it's worth it. Everyone loves me."

"You know, the best liars first lie to themselves," she said quietly. "Except, after a while, how do you tell where the truth was?"

He gaped at her, the pangs thundering in his chest in a staccato. "I like who I am, Case," he said quickly.

"Hm. And who else does?" she asked.

"Everyone!" he retorted.

"Everyone likes Derek Venturi, bad boy and hockey player. Who likes Derek?" she asked.

"Hah! You admit it. Even you like me," he said smugly.

"Derek," she said softly, in that new way she had of saying his name that made that second pang go crazy and ping-pong against his ribs.

He quieted and shrugged. "It's high school. Does anyone know who anyone really is?"

"I do," she said. "I know who I am. And I know who you are."

He looked at her in shock, her words insinuating themselves into his brain and building a little home. "Whatever Casey," he said but even he could hear that his voice lacked force.

She rested her chin again her knees and yawned. "We live together Derek. I've seen every side of you. The obnoxious side. The opportunist side. The prankster side. Not to mention the sucker big brother to Marti side."

"So I'm a pranking, obnoxious, opportunistic sucker," he drawled and the pangs dropped to his stomach. "I feel so much better about myself."

He could tell she was already half-way asleep again, her voice lowered to a soft slur. "You're not so bad," she said. "And Derek… thanks."

The pang none too gently suggested he respond. "Well… I might be a little past the 'I don't hate you' part."

He caught a smile whispering across her face before her head tipped a bit and her hair fell to obscure her features. A few moments later, she slipped a little against the cushion, her cheek ending up against his shoulder, and her whole body in a somewhat awkward position. She'd probably flop around if he left her like that and disturb his TV watching. Careful not to wake her, he shifted his arm up, letting it rest on the back of the couch, and she slid right into position against his side, her head resting in the crook of his neck. Her soft, rhythmic breaths puffed against his throat and the flyaway strands of her hair teased his cheek. The second pang nagged at him with a vengeance. Well, okay, so he's been in worse positions.

Clicking the remote, he turned on a replay of a hockey game. On mute.

It was well past midnight when the front door opened and Nora and George entered, carrying two of their sleeping children. They both paused, surprised at what they found. Casey's dark head was resting on Derek's shoulder, his own head leaned back against the couch with his left arm around his step-sister. They were sound asleep. George shot his wife a look but she only smiled and drew him away to settle the other kids into bed.

Some things just weren't meant to be disturbed.


End file.
